Eva's eyes snapped open.
The darkness of the pagoda was absolute, but her Prime senses didn't need light. She felt the pressure of cold metal against her temple before she saw the shape looming over her. A man—hooded, silent, his face obscured—pressed a finger to his lips. The gesture was almost gentle. His other hand held the gun steady.
Beside her, Lily slept on, unaware. Another shadow stood over her sister, weapon trained on the girl's sleeping face.
Don't move. Don't scream. Don't give them a reason.
Eva's gaze flicked across the room. Leo, being hauled to his feet by two men, his biopolymer filaments dark, his eyes blazing with impotent fury. Derek, his hands bound but his body already hardening, stopped by a sharp whisper and a gun pressed to Maya's temple. Jordan, perfectly still, calculating, his restraints already analyzed. Maya, her eyes flickering blue to black and back again, the Omega stirring but held in check by the cold circle of metal against her skull.
They were efficient. Professional. Not Architects—their gear was mismatched, scavenged but maintained with care. Mercenaries. Hunters.
They didn't speak. They just gestured with their weapons. Move.
They took them without chains, without cuffs. That was the strangest part. Eva's hands were free, her fire only a thought away. But the guns never wavered, and there were children in the room. She looked at Lily's terrified face and walked.
The jungle swallowed them. Hours passed—Eva couldn't tell how many, her internal clock scrambled by adrenaline and the suffocating need to protect. They walked until the terrain shifted, until they reached a low, moss-covered hill that revealed itself to be a cleverly concealed entrance.
A door slid open in the earth.
They descended.
The bunker was old, pre-collapse, but meticulously maintained. Clean corridors, working lights, the smell of ozone and recycled air. Not a prison. A base. Their footsteps echoed on polished metal grating.
Finally, a door. Their captors ushered them inside.
The room was sparse—a single table, a few chairs, bare walls. Morning light, filtered through a small, grime-caked window, painted everything in pale grey. And there, slumped in a chair against the far wall, was Wolfen.
Unconscious. His head lolled forward, his golden eyes closed. His hands rested limp on his thighs. He looked... small. Diminished. The absence of his constant, sardonic energy was a physical thing, a void in the room that pressed against their chests.
Derek took an involuntary step forward. A guard's hand shot out, stopping him.
Leo's breath caught. His fists clenched, sparks dying before they could form. "Wolfen..."
Maya stared, her face unreadable, but her hands trembled at her sides. The Omega whispered something she couldn't hear.
Jordan's analytical mind stuttered, unable to process this variable. Wolfen was never caught. Wolfen was never still. Wolfen was never here, in a guarded room, waiting for them.
Lily pressed herself against Eva, her eyes wide. "Is he...?"
Eva couldn't answer. Her throat had closed.
Standing beside Wolfen's chair was a man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his face weathered and scarred but not unkind. He wore simple, practical clothing, and his hands—resting casually on the back of Wolfen's chair—were calloused and capable. He watched them enter with calm, assessing eyes.
He waited until the last of them was inside, until the door slid shut behind them. Then he smiled—not cruelly, not warmly, but with the patient satisfaction of a man who had been waiting a very long time.
"Sorry for the rudeness," he said, his voice a low, easy rumble. "The theatrics were necessary. You're harder to catch than I anticipated."
He reached down and placed a hand on Wolfen's shoulder. Squeezed once.
Wolfen's head snapped up.
His eyes opened—not groggy, not confused. Instantly, utterly present. His gaze swept the room, took in Eva, Leo, Derek, Maya, Jordan, the trembling girl clutching Eva's arm. His expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. A crack in the armor. A fraction of a second of something that might have been relief, quickly smothered.
"What—" Leo started, but Wolfen cut him off with a single, sharp look.
The man—Chad—stepped around the chair, positioning himself between Wolfen and the group. He spread his hands, a gesture of openness that sat oddly with the armed men at the door.
"I'm Chad," he said. "And I apologize for the lack of hospitality. But we needed to talk. All of you. And you," he glanced down at Wolfen, "have been avoiding me for decades."
Wolfen's jaw tightened. He didn't respond.
Chad sighed, the sound heavy with old familiarity. "Still not a talker. Fine." He turned back to the group. "You have questions. I have answers. But first—" He gestured to the wall behind him.
Eva's gaze followed his hand.
And what she saw shook her to her core.
---
The room was silent for a long, terrible moment. Derek's face went white. Leo's hands fell limp at his sides. Maya made a sound—small, wounded, not human. Jordan's composure cracked, his careful logic shattered by what his eyes refused to unsee.
Lily buried her face in Eva's shoulder, trembling. Eva couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't look away.
Behind Chad, on the grey concrete wall, was evidence of a war Eva hadn't known was being fought. Evidence of what Wolfen had been doing in the weeks since he left them. Evidence of why a man like Chad had been waiting for them.
Wolfen met Eva's eyes across the room. For once, he didn't look away. He didn't make a joke. He didn't deflect.
He just waited.